


Forgiveness

by manixzen



Series: Dom Draco [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: D/s relationship, Dealing With Trauma, Dom Draco Malfoy, Impact Play, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manixzen/pseuds/manixzen
Summary: After an Auror raid goes south, Harry needs to find a way to process his guilt.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Dom Draco [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173746
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> After a rough day yesterday, with some things shaking me up in my own life, I needed to get out some feelings and this is what came out. 
> 
> So, just as a head's up, this fic is much heavier on the feelings than the smut, but still very much in this world and dynamic of the Dom Draco series. Hopefully, it will show another angle to their dynamic and an equally important one, at that. There will be more fun times for these two in the future, though ;-)
> 
> Also, this is unbetaed, so if you see any glaring typos, please let me know 💕

Harry pushed through the door, before kicking off his muddy boots and hanging his Auror field robes on the coat rack. They’d both need to be cleaned, but he was tired to his bones. An all-night stakeout that led to bloodshed in the early morning hours would do that. It was rare for him to go out into the field anymore—the Assistant Head Auror position was more bureaucracy than duelling—but once in a while, a case big enough reared its head that required his presence. 

Normally, Harry relished the change of pace. But this case had been particularly gruesome, and, by the early morning hours, had seen two of his Aurors in St Mungo’s. The healers insisted they’d both be fine after treatment and with some rest, but Harry always felt personally responsible. And that didn’t stop Harry from seeing the flashes of light as one of them went down—the crumpled bodies on the ground, in the mud. The screams as a Crucio hit another Auror. 

He walked upstairs, careful to not wake Draco, and headed straight to the guest bathroom. After shutting the door softly behind him, he peeled off his shirt, damp with sweat and a little blood—not his own. Tossing it on the floor, he pulled off both socks, adding them to the pile, and then removed his trousers and pants. 

Out of habit, he checked himself over. Once, years ago when he was still in the field, he’d missed a cut from a particularly nasty spell that stopped the coagulation and woke up in a small puddle of blood. Draco had been more upset than he had, but Harry agreed, it was probably good to check himself over. 

The old scars were still in place and no new ones appeared to have been added over the night, so Harry stepped in the shower. He leaned his head back under the stream of hot water, trying to relax. It was no use. The shower never washed away as much as he hoped. So, he cleaned up quickly, turned off the faucet, and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

As he opened the creaky bedroom door, Draco grunted and rolled over. Harry tried to close the door quietly, but it was no use.

“Hey,” Draco said, blinking awake. 

“Sorry to wake you.” Harry walked over to the dresser, pulling out some clean clothes.

“Did you just get home?” Draco asked while leaning over to look at the clock.

“Yeah. Long night.” Harry sighed and stepped into a pair of plain black boxer briefs. 

“You okay?”

“Fine.” 

Harry started to put on his t-shirt until it became clear it was inside out. He huffed and turned it right side out with a little more force than necessary. As he lifted his hands, he felt a pair of warm arms wrap around his chest.

“Hey,” Draco said softly. “It’s okay.”

Harry let out a long breath, dropping the shirt to his side and letting himself lean back into the man.

“What happened?”

Harry just shook his head, not interested in rehashing the details—even as they kept flickering in front of his eyes. 

“What do you need, love?”

Harry shuddered, closing his eyes. Years ago he would have said nothing, kept a stiff upper lip and tried to push through his day. But he knew Draco meant it when he asked and Harry was allowed to need things with him. So, instead, he took a moment and thought. What did he need? What would make the ache, the guilt go away?

“Punish me,” Harry finally whispered. 

Draco pulled him tighter and kissed him on the side of the neck. 

“Okay. Go wait for me in the playroom.”

Harry let out a sigh—already feeling some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. Once Draco released him, he re-folded the t-shirt and put it back in the drawer, before turning and heading downstairs. 

The playroom had been Draco’s pet project when he first moved into Grimmauld Place, taking the dusty old cellar and turning it into something much more fun. With a little spell work, he’d raised the ceiling height, or, really, lowered the floor. Then, he’d smoothed out the plaster walls, added enough sconces that the room could be bright enough to see every last freckle on Harry’s tanned shoulders or dark enough that Harry could hardly tell where the other man was during a scene. 

The underground space gave a sense of separateness from the world that Harry never stopped appreciating as well. While he always enjoyed his Saturdays in Draco’s study and had plenty of fun in their bedroom, this is where he could really let go. This is where it was only him and Draco and nothing else mattered. 

Harry padded down the final set of stairs and felt his chest unclench as he stepped in the room, the torches on the wall flaring to life and settling to a soft glow. He walked over to the bed at the end of the long room and removed his pants, folding them and placing them on a chair at the foot of the bed. 

Then, Harry walked to the centre of the room and sunk down to his knees. Even then, in that room—in his home, far from work—the scenes of the past night kept flashing through his mind. 

He dug his fingers into his palms and reminded himself that Draco would make it better. The pain would make it better. He could take his penance here. 

After only a moment, Draco entered the room, dressed in crisp trousers, a white shirt, and a grey waistcoat, looking like he’d already been up for hours and was on his way out. 

Draco walked over to Harry and put a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. “Before we start, what are the rules for when you’re upset?”

Harry exhaled. “That if it’s too much, I must let you know or say my safe word and not try to push through.”

“And what happens if you break that rule?”

“No play for two weeks.”

Draco nodded, seemingly satisfied. Harry knew he was right to ask; he had a habit of pushing himself too hard, not knowing his own limits. He knew Draco worried about that a lot, and Harry couldn’t help the pang in his chest at how much a burden he was, wondering why Draco even put up with him.

Before he could get too far down that train of thought, Draco stepped back, releasing his chin. 

Harry dropped his head back down, trying to be good, and heard Draco sigh. 

“Okay, love. Go get the red flogger and spreader bar for me and come right back here.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry breathed out. 

The red flogger stung like a bitch. It was exactly what he needed. 

Harry crawled to the wall just behind him, standing to grab the spreader bar from where it hung. Then he placed it on his hands and shuffled back to the centre of the room on his knees. Draco accepted the spreader, and then Harry repeated the same motions to grab the flogger, crawling back with it firmly in his mouth, his lips protecting the leather handle. 

“Stand.”

Harry complied immediately, and Draco flicked his wand, sending the spreader bar down to Harry’s feet. Harry needed to spread his legs out further to meet their width before they snapped in place. 

“Arms.”

Harry held his arms up as ropes magically snaked down from the beams of the rough ceiling. They wrapped around his wrists and then pulled upward until Harry’s body was strung tight. He panted and his cock started to harden at the familiar position. Most days, it only took a look at one of their many toys to get hard, but today he wasn’t looking for an orgasm. 

Draco walked around him in a circle, dragging the red tresses across Harry’s skin. 

“What do you want, Harry?” Draco asked, standing behind Harry and continuing to run the flogger gently up and down his back.

“To be punished, sir,” Harry replied.

“And why do you need to be punished?” Draco asked. Normally, that was a question Harry got after directly disobeying a rule or order while they were in a scene. He wasn’t quite sure what answer Draco was looking for, so he went for something vague but honest. 

“For my transgressions.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully and ran the tresses along the curve of Harry’s arse.

“What transgressions would those be?”

Harry grit his teeth. He wasn’t in the mood for games; he just wanted Draco to hit him until he could forget. 

“I don’t know what you want, sir.”

“I want to know exactly what you want to be punished for,” Draco said as he walked around Harry, stopping in front of him. “I wouldn’t be a very good Dom if I punished you without knowing why, would I?”

Harry shook his head. Fuck. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to get on with it. “Please, sir.”

“Please, what?”

“Please just hit me.”

“Why, Harry?”

Harry let out a sound of frustration. “Because two of my Aurors nearly died tonight,” he spat out. “Because I couldn’t keep them safe.”

Draco nodded as if not surprised by the answer. “And are you responsible for everyone?”

“I was in command.”

“So if something goes wrong, it’s your fault?”

Harry opened his mouth but shut it again, unsure how to answer that.

“I’ll put it another way. Did you forget your protocol or do anything that caused their injuries?”

“What? No.”

“So, you did your job correctly, and something went wrong.”

“Draco—”

“Harry. We’ve been over this. Everyone is not your responsibility. Say it.”

Harry pressed his lips together but then repeated after Draco. “Everyone is not my responsibility.”

“You are not perfect, and sometimes things just go wrong.”

Harry fought the urge to argue. He didn't think he was perfect; there was just more he could have done. There was always more.

“Harry,” Draco warned.

“I am not perfect, and sometimes things just go wrong.” Harry hung his head.

Draco put his finger under Harry’s chin, gently tilting it up and meeting his gaze. “You can’t save everyone.”

“I can’t save everyone,” Harry repeated, deflating slightly. He knew that. He did. It was just so hard to hold on to some days.

“So, now, let’s try this again—what transgression did you commit?

Harry sighed and hung his head again. “I beat myself up for not being able to control everything. I take on too much of the blame. 

“Good boy,” Draco whispered, kissing him on the forehead. “Now. If you still want a punishment, you know I will never deny that to you, but I will not punish you ever for things that you cannot control. I’m not a monster, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, a lump forming in his throat. 

Draco ran his thumb along Harry’s cheek and kissed him softly, and Harry knew he was forgiven. 

“Now,” Draco said, walking behind Harry, “for the first five, you’re going to repeat after me: I will try to forgive myself.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Words, love.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, voice hoarse. 

No sooner were the words out of his mouth that a stinging pain crossed his back. He startled forward. Draco wasn’t messing around. 

“Harry—” Draco said in warning.

“I will try to forgive myself,” Harry said quickly.

Another hit, Harry leaned forward from the blow, the ropes on his wrist the only thing keeping him upright. “I will try to forgive myself.”

The next three came just as harshly as he first, no warm-up, no warning. 

By the time the five were done, Harry felt himself letting go. The blows kept coming, fast sharp blows coving his back, his arse, the back of his thighs. He gripped the ropes trying to keep himself from swinging forward too much on the blows, but eventually, he got lost in the sensations, swaying like a ship in a rough sea—the blows falling over him like waves. 

The next thing he knew his ankles were free and he was being lowered to the floor.

“Shh, you did so well.”

Harry felt a thumb run across his face, a wetness spread. He hadn’t even known he was crying. 

Draco summoned a blanket and wrapped him up, holding him in his lap, as he continued to whisper soothing words to Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“Shhh, love.” Draco brushed his hair back, tracing over his scar on his forehead. “I love you. And I just want you to be okay. Do you feel better?”

Harry nodded. And he did. He felt lighter, freer. The guilt pushed back. Harry knew it would come back—another case, another situation gone wrong—but it was a start. 


End file.
